


Love Is a Hand-Me-Down Bruise

by theicescholar



Category: Mob City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Fix-It, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Sexual Tension, get out of dodge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 00:37:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11024913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theicescholar/pseuds/theicescholar
Summary: “You see yellow down my back, Sid?”





	Love Is a Hand-Me-Down Bruise

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [KuriKoer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKoer) and [Fengirl88 ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fengirl88)for beta and advice

Ben is going to hate Sid for making him give up his car. Sid will apologize later.

For now, all Sid says is: “We should stop at my place.”

Sid made his decision when they left Meyer’s suite. The dust up with Teague only strengthened his resolve.

Ben isn’t concerned with the request; he’s in the driver’s seat, after all.

Ben is quieter than usual on the drive to Venice Beach. He’s taking the threat seriously, even if he won’t voice it.

They pull up and Ben waits in the car.

It doesn’t take Sid long: he’s always been efficient. He doesn’t rush, just moves briskly. His life in two suitcases, one of them heavy with weapons. Heavier with money: the neat stacks of cash Sid keeps hidden behind the ice box. He empties the cigar box in his sock drawer, the roll of bills hidden beneath stale grains in a battered coffee can.

Money runs out eventually, but Sid has been saving for a long time.

He makes two phone calls.

Thinks. Writes a cheque and a note of apology to his landlady, asks her to cancel the milk. Sid doesn’t glance back as he leaves the apartment. 

Ben frowns at the sight of the suitcases: “You going somewhere?”

“Terry and Ned will get your girls to safety. There’s a place in Italy. Virginia is in Europe, Ned will make sure she knows to stay there,” Sid walks to his own vehicle and places the suitcases in the trunk.

Sid hates having to trust Ned to get it done, but he does trust that Terry will make him bleed if he doesn’t.

“We need to take my car. We can stop at your place downtown. Lay low for a bit.”

Ben stares at him. “You see yellow down my back, Sid?”

“We need to get outta town Ben.”  Sid doesn’t care how he sounds; he’s playing every card he has right now.

Quietly, he says, “They’ll come after me too.”

Ben startles at that, stares at Sid.

Whatever Ben chooses, Sid will stand by him.

“I need time to pack,” his voice is defiant.

Sid starts his car.

 

Only a handful of people know about the apartment Ben keeps downtown. It’s a decent trade: time lost while Ben chooses his ties, his shoes: a salve for his pride.  

While Ben packs, Sid empties two of his bank accounts, keeping an eye out for anyone suspicious that might be tailing him.

The third he leaves with enough money to cover his rent and a bit more, enough of an apology that his landlady won’t have any time for the cops.

He stops and buys food- cheese, bread, simple things -before returning to find Ben trying to fit a bottle of champagne into an overstuffed suitcase.

Nothing but Nat King Cole on the radio as they leave the city. It looks like rain.

Sid should probably be grateful that they made it this far, that they made it out at all.

He isn’t.

 

Just a couple of ghosts taking the highway: putting distance between Ben and everyone who wants to kill him.

They only stop to take a piss, grab some chow.

Ben is seething, talking revenge. He’s still breathing and that’s good enough for Sid.

Getting Ben to understand the knife edge situation they were balanced on, to put his pride on the back burner; it’s like pulling teeth with a rusty wrench.

They need to disappear. New York, any place that feels like home is out of the question. Somewhere in the Midwest. Or some tiny former bootlegging town in Canada: places that don’t sound real, places no one would think to look.

Ben balks at the idea of Canada.

“We need to be unpredictable,” Sid says.

 “I ain’t freezing my balls off up there,” Ben argues, “Do they even _have_ Jews up there?”

“Montreal isn’t that far from New York. My pop used to talk about his cousin Sol. He’s a carpenter.” 

“You don’t speak anymore French than me,” Ben retorts.

“Neither does Sol. You want what, to head south to Mexico?”

Couple of Brooklyn boys in Tijuana. Yeah, they’d blend in about as well as whores in a convent.

“I don’t speak Mexican,” Ben concedes.

“Spanish.”

Ben waves the correction away. “You got all it all planned out huh?” he gestures to the maps Sid bought at the last gas station.

They head north, skirting the 101, a long goodbye to the west coast.

 

Sid has driven for so long his eyes feel like sand, the music on the radio has taken on a syrupy, surreal quality.

Sid pulls over at the first neon blink offering vacancies. He’s not going to do his former associates a favor and die rolling them in a ditch.

Sid rents the room while Ben stays in the car: he doesn’t want to run the risk of getting made by some motel clerk. Ben is equal parts of amused and annoyed at having to wait in the boiler.

The room is serviceable: cheap motel rooms all seem the same, no matter the distance. Ben is restless in the bed across from Sid’s, anger following him even in sleep.

The couple next door isn’t using their bed for sleeping: at least someone is having a good time.

Sid is lying in bed, counting bills. They have a ways to go. Ben doesn’t seem to grasp that he can’t tip the way he used to, can’t just eat whatever he wants, even from greasy roadside diners.

When it came to money, it was always Meyer who reigned Ben in.

He doesn’t hold it against Meyer. Sid knows that Meyer tried, sincerely tried, to warn Ben. But if it comes between Ben and Meyer, there is only one way that will go.

Sid puts his neat stacks of money away. He turns his back on Ben’s sleeping frame and watches the approaching car lights on the wall until he falls asleep.

 

Sid wakes up, bleary, already listening for a threat, wondering what woke him.

The couple next door has gone quiet. Rhythmic. Oh.

A different kind of restlessness from Ben.

He tries not to listen, but now that he knows what Ben is up to. Sid swallows. He keeps his hands resting politely on his stomach.

He loves Ben. Ben doesn’t love him that way. Sid protects Ben, Ben needs him. What else is there to say?

Ben has his wife, his girlfriend, the party girls he keeps on the side. Sid isn’t going to be a sap about it.

Sid is discrete, but Ben knows. He must. Sid likes sharp, pretty things. After all this time, Ben must know that it wasn’t just dames Sid took home.

He gave Sid this look once, when the pretty lawyer from back east showed up. Like he knew some of Sid’s jabs were aimed with a particular kind of precision.

He stares at the ceiling and doesn’t listen to the little hitch in Ben’s breathing, the satisfied sprawl that turns into steady breathing of deep sleep.

Eventually Sid falls asleep.

 

Two days on the road and the distance they’re covering seems impossible.

They’re approaching the state line when the kid at the front desk of yet another motel recognizes Ben: a man staring at his meal ticket.

Still, Sid wants to be sure.

They rent a room and Sid stops Ben by the door with a palm on his arm: “Wait here.”

When he goes back in and sure enough the rat is on the phone.

“Hey—the satisfying crack of the bones in his wrist cuts the clerk off. He drops the receiver with a cry of pain and Sid has it in one, viciously slamming hard plastic against his squealing mouth. Once more just too prove a point, blood ruining his cheap shirt.

A broken tooth stutters across the counter, disappears.

Sid grips the clerk by the hair and leans in close, “You tell them, they come after us, I’ll send every single one of them to the morgue. It doesn’t matter who you send, they’ll come back in a box.”

The clerk nods, terrified.

Sid releases his hair. The clerk’s skull makes a satisfying clunk when it bounces off the counter. Sid walks around the counter, relieves the clerk of his hidden .38, empties the contents of the cash register into a manila envelope, and exits the motel.

Sid walks back to the car, calm. They all know where they stand now.

Sid slides in next to Ben.

“We’ve been made,” he says flatly. He frowns at his shirtsleeve; he has blood on his cuff.

“Canada,” Ben says, incredulous, a nation of ice and impossibility.

“Yeah,” Sid agrees.

 

Sid wakes up and he’s wrapped around Ben: the larger man’s back against his chest. His back is towards the wall.

The rain is coming down in sheets, Sid can barely see out the motel window.

Driving had become a nightmare and Sid had pulled over the first motel they came to. Everyone else had the same idea and he only managed a to book a single room.

A single with one bed, but it’s not like they’ve never shared a bed before.

It reminds Sid of how it used to be, when they shared a one room apartment in Brooklyn. The two of them sleeping on the floor on layers of clothing, walking in the rain because they had no place to go, a bowl of soup or an apple shared between two hungry people.

They came up a little: somehow the two of them just the right size to fit two mostly grown men on the luxury of a single bed. They would bundle up in winter, wool socks on their hands, curl around each trying to keep the cold from their bones. Laying side by side on the fire escape in the relentless heat of August, hoping for some relief when the sun went down.

It never seemed to come.

Ben’s so much bigger than him. He seems surprised sometimes, that Sid is smaller than he is. Sid has a knack for teaching people that little guys are the ones you watch out for: little guys don’t take prisoners.

Sid slides his arms away slowly, careful not to wake his best friend.

“Sid?”

“Yeah?”

“You got somewhere to be?”

Sid relaxes a little.

Ben turns and looks at him. Ben has that look he gets, when he gets to thinking. It’s not good to leave Ben too long on his own. He’s got too much curiosity for his own good.

Sid’s stomach tightens. Ben needs to be sharp, ruthless. His face is—too much.

“Ben,” Sid warns, “don’t”

“Sid.”

Sid’s teeth clack together. Leave it alone, leave it _alone_ Ben, because Sid doesn’t have an answer for the way Ben is looking at him. The way Ben says his name.

 “Ben.”

“Yeah?”

“My arm is asleep.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Ben moves to let Sid pass, doesn’t say a word when Sid slides out of bed.

“Gotta take a piss,” Sid mutters.

 

Sid’s world is coffee sweat and cigarettes. He never much cared about Oregon, and after a few hours of endless highway, finds he still doesn’t.

Ben is quiet. It’s worse than rage, than bitterness, worse than Ben’s impossible plans for revenge.

“What’s the matter with you?” it comes out more sharply than Sid intends.

“You hungry?” is all Ben says.

 

A town called Sixes, and a diner called Ruby’s.

“Sounds like a good name for a club,” Ben says.

Ben charms a slice of free pie from the waitress. A real looker too. The tea is lousy.

They opt to spend the night.

Sid takes the bed closest to the door, lets Ben have the shower first, just like he always does. Ben has left him hot water, but Sid doesn’t linger.

Sid towels off and pulls on a clean set of underwear. He’s making plans for the next day, mentally mapping out the journey as he exits the bathroom.

Stills.

Ben is in his bed.

Sid can’t help but notice the broad line of Ben’s bare shoulders, the long curve of his spine against the mattress, the white of the sheet resting just a kiss below decency on the smooth hollow of his lower back. Ben is awake.

Sid knows an invitation when he sees one. He swallows. This isn’t how this story goes.

 ‘You can’t,’ Sid wants to protest.  

 _You can’t_ might has well be a dare when it comes to Ben. _You aren’t_. Well, Ben has never asked permission for what he wanted before.

Sid swallows. He should leave. Tell Ben he’s got it all wrong.

Ben turns to him when Sid slides into bed. His cheeks are flushed with color but he has a familiar set to his chin. 

Ben, the stubborn, stupid bastard, reaches out and touches Sid’s face, his hair.

Sid closes his eyes.

“You’re still wet,” Ben says, his voice is hoarse. When Sid opens his eyes, Ben is looking at him like he’s the last glass of water in the desert

“You do this with other guys,” it’s a question and it’s not.

Sid nods.

Ben nods a little to himself. “You do this with women too,” more puzzled than accusatory.

“Yeah Benny, I do,” Sid acknowledges.

“How come you never asked me?”

Sid blinks. Arrogant, presumptuous, and genuinely hurt.

“You were always _busy_ , Benny,” is the dry response.

It pulls a laugh from Ben and he relaxes a little.

Ben’s lips press against Sid’s mouth, ease away and return to kiss him properly. Sid keeps his eyes open; he doesn’t want some Hollywood kiss.

Sid cups his jaw and kisses him. He tries to keep it gentle, trying to ease Ben into it but Ben won’t let him. He kisses back like he’s been thinking about it, wanting.

Sid can’t help the moan that escapes his mouth. He’s afraid he’ll scare Ben off but Ben just shivers.   

Ben has one big hand cupping the back of Sid’s head, the other is stroking down his back.

The sheet slips down, confirming that Ben is naked beneath it.

Ben kisses him again. It isn’t gentle anymore. Maybe that’s how Ben thinks a man should kiss another man. Lord knows what kind of ideas Ben has about what men do together.

Sid pulls away. Cups Ben’s face and kisses him, slowly, deepening the kiss.

Ben catches on in a hurry, mouth hot and clever.

Sid eases back, breathless already. It’s gratifying to see Ben flushed, lips slick and tender from kissing.

“What do you like? Show me, show me what you like,” it’s a tentative demand.

Ben traces the thin scar that that curves up Sid’s right clavicle. His fingers pause when they reach the fabric of Sid’s undershirt. Ben knows exactly how it close the blade came to making Sid sing soprano.

Still, Ben hasn’t seen the remnants of the one hundred and thirteen stitches required to put Sid back together again in a very long time. 

The scar has faded but it’s enough to make Sid keep his undershirt on when he’s with someone.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of it, he just doesn’t want anyone touching the scar, or worse, thinking he needs pity. It still itches sometimes, the shiny skin oversensitive in some spots and nearly numb in others. It chafes when he wears a shoulder holster.

A woman once ghosted her fingers across the damage his undershirt didn’t conceal while they were fucking and he gripped her wrist hard enough to make her cry out.

He had shown her the scar in apology, raising his undershirt just long enough to see the understanding in her eyes. He showed her out and she surprised him by kissing his cheek.

“Will you take this off?” Ben asks. His voice is even hoarser than usual and Sid’s heart is pounding.

He slips the undershirt off.

Ben is used to boning gorgeous woman. Sid feels all bones and angles, there isn’t enough of him to compete.

Ben leans over and presses his mouth to Sid’s right shoulder, kisses down to his collarbone.

Oh.

Ben is going to slice him open and take everything Sid has left.

Ben pulls him close and kisses him, mouth hungry. They’re moving so fast, too fast, Ben’s hands are just everywhere.

“Ben,” Sid starts. Ben’s passion makes Sid feel reckless, impulsive.

“Don’t stop,” muffled against his neck, Ben’s lips exploring his throat.

Sid’s so keyed up. The way Ben pulls him closer, touches him like he can’t get enough.

Ben’s hands are shaking, just a little, so Sid makes sure that his hands are steady.

“I haven’t—with guys,” breath hot against Sid’s neck.

“I got you,” Sid says, certain.

Sharp inhale of breath from Ben and he kisses Sid again.

 “I want,” Sid starts.

“Yeah,” Ben agrees, a little mindless.

Sid just smiles.

 He makes his way down Ben’s body, breathing the scent of him in, learning the taste of his skin.

“Sid, oh fuck, don’t stop,” Ben pants, he’s arching against the heat of Sid’s mouth, thighs shaking.

The way he says Sid’s name when he comes makes Sid close his eyes.

Ben sprawls against the bed, panting.

Sid rejoins him and gets kissed senseless for his trouble. 

“You wanna?” he tugs at Sid’s underwear and Sid hums in agreement, raises his hips so Ben can ease them down, Sid kicking them off.

“Sid, are you, do you?” one big hand on Sid’s hip, his thigh, oh _there_.

Don’t stop.

Sid breathes hard through his nose.

“Sid?” Ben sounds almost hesitant, uncertain for once.

“Don’t. Stop.” Sid bites off the words, keeps his hips still with effort.

For once Ben obeys. His grip is tight, fingers dry wrapped around Sid. Sid barely cares.

Ben kisses him again.

Sid eases away to lick his own fingers, guides Ben’s hand, slowing him, gentling his grip.

Sid moans softly.

He’s wanted for so long.

Ben catches on quick, gets a rhythm going that has Sid gasping against his mouth. So good.

Ben says his name, broken, like he’s the one getting close.

Sid nods and Ben releases him. He pulls Sid on top of him and they kiss, desperate for more, slick skin and heat.

Sid rocks against him, panting.

He knows he’s making noise, shaking and coming apart. Sid buries his face against Ben’s neck and comes.

When Sid catches his breath, Ben’s arms are still around him, one big hand stroking lazily through his hair.

Sid lets him, shuts his eyes against wondering how Ben will act in the morning.

He can feel Ben begin to shake before he hears it. Laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Sid asks, uncertain if he should be indignant.

“You said, you said we had to be unpredictable,” Ben gasps out, still laughing.

Sid begins to grin.

“Well we sure as hell did that!” Ben bursts into laughter.

Sid joins Ben’s amusement, chuckling.

They’re going to start sticking together and Sid reluctantly pulls away. He can’t say he isn’t pleased by the noise of protest Ben makes. Sid grabs the nearest article of clothing- Ben’s undershirt, he thinks- and wipes them off best as he can.

Ben frowns but wonders never cease, doesn’t say a word. Just pulls Sid close. The two of them sleepy and sated.  

Ben will have some things to say tomorrow, Sid knows he will.

He also knows it will keep until light creeps in through the blinds.

 

 

 


End file.
